


Everything Sam Knows about Agent Henriksen, He Learned from Joss Whedon

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The situation with Henriksen will eventually come to a head.  Here are five possibilities from Sam's POV.  Season two fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Sam Knows about Agent Henriksen, He Learned from Joss Whedon

_Derrial Book_

Henriksen is a magical black man. When push comes to shove, he’ll have to believe, and all Sam and Dean’s problems will disappear. The scenario runs something like this:

Turns out going deeper means holing up at Bobby’s for a few months. Dean works on cars and Sam cuts his hair, gets a job tending bar at this dive a mile up the way. A couple kids die in town and Sam can hear the EMF meter pinging just reading their obits.

Sam’s on lookout like usual while Dean digs up Mortimer Sims, hit and run victim of 1978, and suddenly Henriksen’s just _there_ , leaned back against a gravestone. He’s alone and he’s armed and Sam doesn’t have time to feel like a fuckup because Morty wraps his hands around Henriksen’s neck and squeezes. Letting him die would be so easy. And convenient. But that’s not what Winchesters do. So Sam shoots Mr. Sims a faceful of salt and Dean burns his bones.

After, Henriksen scrabbles at his throat, chokes out, “I didn’t know,” over and over until his voice gives. Sam doesn’t know how he does it exactly, but Henriksen clears them of all charges and the Feds never bother them again.

_Jubal Early_

Agent Henriksen is definitely the villain of the piece. He’s twisted in some way, Sam thinks. A man obsessed less with justice than with punishing them for evading capture. This version of the story goes a little differently:

Sam kneels on the mounded grass of a grave with his hands on his head. Dean kneels beside him, closely enough that Sam’s right sneaker touches his brother’s left boot.

“I am tired of chasing you two,” Henriksen says. “And now I’m done.”

Dean smirks through his busted lip. “Really? Sending us back to the big house? That worked out so well for you last time.”

“You know? You’re right.” 

And Sam can see the instant Henriksen decides to go through with it; he smiles a little and then Dean’s rocking backwards, his brains a Jackson Pollack on the final resting place of Mary Margaret Holliday, Beloved Wife and Sister. Sam thinks he should cry, or scream maybe, but he can’t seem to do much more than breathe, deep and ragged breaths that burn his lungs on the exhale.

“Get up and run.” Sam just stares at him, so Henriksen says it again. “Get up and run, Sam.”

Dean’s blood is still warm on Sam’s face and on his shirt and he doesn’t know what else to do. Sam runs.

_The Operative_

Sam knows Henriksen truly believes he’s doing the right thing. He thinks Sam and Dean are dangerous, Dean particularly, and he’s just doing his job. Trying to keep people safe by any means necessary. Of all the ways their lives could play out, Sam fears this possibility most:

Every day, Sam wakes up and goes to breakfast. He sweeps the common area, or chops vegetables in the kitchen if it’s a Tuesday or Thursday. Then he exercises. After lunch, he writes Dean, maybe reads a letter or two of his own if he’s earned mail privileges. He exercises again and then it’s lights out.

Dean isn’t able to send letters often, so when they come, they’re long, ten pages or more front and back. Dean spends a lot of time alone and so his letters are full of the things he never could say to Sam’s face. When he thinks that prison is finally what allows Dean to open up to him, Sam wants to laugh, except it’s really not funny.

Their trial was a media circus. After the MSNBC special aired, people from all over the country contacted the DA’s office offering to testify on their behalf—mothers with daughters who had just gotten married thanks to the Winchesters, fathers with babies who were crawling and teething and pooping their diapers thanks to the Winchesters. Mara took the more wholesome individuals up on their offers, but in the end, nothing could trump eyewitness testimony from a cop who watched Dean kill his partners.

Bobby visits as often as he’s allowed and Ellen makes the trip now and again, too. Sam looks forward to these few hours each month more than he’d have thought possible once, but they can’t satisfy the absence in his life. Sam still has ten more years before he’ll see Dean again, and even then, it’ll be through a quarter inch of plexi-glass.

 

_Charles Gunn_

Sam makes it his mission to find out everything he can about Agent Henriksen. Henriksen has a family, two sisters in Atlanta and a brother that teaches English as a second language in China. His parents are dead and he was married briefly in the nineties, but his wife couldn’t take the pressure of his job. The narrative unfolds like this:

“What are we doing here? This is not going deep. This is the opposite of going deep.”

“Relax, Sammy. He’s seen the spirit now. He has to cut us some slack.”

“Dean, it’s his sister. You think he’s gonna say thanks when we desecrate her grave?”

Dean shrugs.

Henriksen doesn’t seem surprised to see them when they show, and he’s freaked enough that he listens to what Sam has to say. In the cemetery, he watches his sister’s spirit burn out as her bones flare up. He vomits into the grass and when he can speak again, he says, “I hate you. I hate you both for being right.”

Their charges stay on the books, but Henrcksen calls off the hounds and after a week or two, Sam starts breathing easier.

 

_Zoe Washburne_

Henriksen is loyal and determined. He wears the badge like he was born with it, and above all else, the man is relentless. Unlike the others, this script never ends:

Sam and Dean don’t work as many jobs as they used to. They never go to the Roadhouse anymore; Ellen’s too high profile and they don’t want to risk exposing her or the hunters who frequent her establishment. They spend a lot of time with Bobby, and he never acts like they’re a burden. Sam thinks Bobby’s glad for the company. 

When they hunt, they do so very carefully. Dean grows his hair longer and dyes it darker; Sam goes lighter and shorter. Dean turns down the collars of his jackets and they never, ever drive the Impala farther than the gas station five miles from Bobby’s place. Hunting’s more difficult when they don’t dare question the victims, but so far they’ve managed as best they can.

Dean flinches when he hears sirens. He would deny it if Sam called him on it, but Sam doesn’t joke like that now. Each time Sam hands off another lead to Jo, Dean grows a little quieter.


End file.
